


the quiet

by deadstarsstillburn



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Songfic, guitar playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 20:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13198227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deadstarsstillburn/pseuds/deadstarsstillburn
Summary: Chorus has a world to rebuild, a civilization to shape from crumbling ashes. Sim troopers or not, this world must spin on.But there are two among them who cannot let go.





	the quiet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [anneapocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Don't fucking do that.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10664631) by [anneapocalypse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneapocalypse/pseuds/anneapocalypse). 



> once upon a time in late april, annie banannie wrote "don't fucking do that." i fell in love with it instantly. it was speculative for season 15 at the time, and though it was quickly confirmed to not be canon, it’s one of my favorite fanworks to come out of 15–so much so that i didn’t make it 10 days before i began writing this. a million kudos to anne for taking this little surprise in stride, encouraging me to polish it up and get it posted, and generally being awesome.
> 
> i implore you read her fic first. credit goes to anne for one of her timeline theories in the [spoiler] mention. and yes, there is ambient noise in this recording. you aren’t crazy, or being haunted.
> 
> anne has since made this into a **[podfic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11899278)** , where she has frankly crafted a much better experience, blending the words and music than i ever could just embedding the track. you are fully encouraged to listen to her angelic voice at the link above rather than reading this here!

 

He’s playing again.

Carolina knows Wash can play the guitar. She’s watched his fingers, calloused and sure, skip over the strings, watched the shy hint of a blush tinge his cheeks as he let his bangs hide his eyes from the gaze of his audience. He used to play before, on the Mother of Invention. Back when he had friends to play for. Before the Project tore them apart.

When Caboose presents Wash the weathered and creaking acoustic instrument in the New Republic base on Chorus, Carolina pretends she doesn’t know what the sudden thickness of Wash’s voice means. She hears notes carry out of the room he shares with Caboose and Tucker on occasion during her patrols—always quiet, always late at night.

But in the silence left in the wake of the disappearance of the Reds and Blues, the quiet strumming is unspeakably loud.

Carolina doesn’t always enjoy silence. It presents an undesired opportunity for what’s between her ears to crawl out from the back of her mind. Silence reminds her of an empty home with two ghosts inside, waiting for a third that will never return; of the bottom of a frozen valley; of the fist that seized her throat a second time the day she asked Wash what happened to Maine, and the answer was, “he’s gone.”

Of the endless space between those words and the rest as she pried when out of Wash: “A few days ago.”

Carolina could’ve stopped it. Maybe not all of it–just one version of Tex could have been too much, she’s halfway willing to understand that now–but she could have stopped Maine from sinking to the bottom of icy waters.

_Always too late._

There’s still no sign of Hargrove’s ship, and the people of Chorus no longer brace themselves for the worst. They’re moving on. The Reds and Blues will soon be hailed as heroes of the fallen kind. Lost in the furthest reaches of space, unlikely to return. Chorus has a world to rebuild, a civilization to shape from crumbling ashes. Sim troopers or not, this world must spin on.

But there are two among them who cannot let go.

Carolina is losing all memory of when attempting to sleep at night didn’t feel like lying down with a weight on her chest. Three weeks ago, they were at war. The only thing to fight against now is the prevailing sense of empty despair that follows her down the halls. Anger sank its hooks into her skin long ago, but it’s always burned bright, fierce.

_They have Epsilon._

That flame has died down.

She’s smoldering.

It’s yet another shared coffee break, another day she and Wash will talk about anything but the fact that it’s four in the morning and their friends are still missing. She’s never said anything about the lonely notes that float into her room, but she carries them with her, all the way to the tiny break room that serves as a caffeine dispensary when there’s no access to the mess hall. The notes seep out of her without her notice, and it isn’t until Wash’s steps halt behind her that she realizes she’s been exhaling them under her breath.

“Shit.” She looks over her shoulder. Wash is flushed to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t realize—I didn’t mean to keep you up.”

“I was awake.” She shrugs. “Besides, it’s nice. Better than the quiet.” Which is perhaps more of an admission than she would generally allow, but there it is, hanging in the air. Still and true. She leans against a counter and watches the words sink into him.

He fidgets. “You, uh. Don’t have to listen through the wall. If you don’t want to.” He looks like his skin is crawling. It probably is. Carolina can’t help the huff of laughter that escapes her at his obvious discomfort. He’s always been shy about this—but he’s still offering.

“Maybe I won’t.”

It’s days before she hears the low plucking of guitar strings next door again. But when she does, instead of lying there in the dark, Carolina gets up, pulls on a sweatshirt, pads to his door, and knocks twice.

“It’s unlocked,” comes the quiet response.

She lets herself in.

**Author's Note:**

> rec me ur fave tunes @ [tuckerfuckingdidit](http://tuckerfuckingdidit.tumblr.com/).


End file.
